


The Great Christmas Mystery

by DiscoSam



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Sexy Times, Sherlock (TV) Season/Series 04 Fix-it, Sherlock is a bossy bottom, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscoSam/pseuds/DiscoSam
Summary: It's the first Christmas party in 221B since the events of Sherrinford, and Sherlock is hoping to use the opportunity to reconnect with John. But as ever, things don't go according to plan. An awkward moment presents a new case for Sherlock to solve, and both men get more than they bargained for.





	The Great Christmas Mystery

Sherlock woke with a feeling of apprehension. He could tell from the light peering through his bedroom window that it was late afternoon, which meant the annual Christmas party at 221B was in just a few hours. He had spent the last few days fretting over how events would play out, denying himself the sleep that he apparently needed, until his body failed him in his efforts to stay awake.

It would be the first Christmas gathering Sherlock has hosted since… well, since everything went to shit.

Things were still a little rocky in Sherlock’s life. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he has a sister – and almost more challenging was understanding how his brain managed to hide this fact from him – whilst trying to work through his tumultuous relationships with those around him, namely John, Mycroft, and Molly.

Things seem to be improving with Molly. Apologizing wasn’t his forte, but he’d made a sincere (herculean) effort and Molly must have been able to understand that and had forgiven him without hesitation, saying that she was just thankful that he was okay and that they had all made it out alive. After some deep thought, he realized he did love Molly as a friend and he took the opportunity to tell her this (emphasizing the _only friends_ part). Sherlock did his best to be patient when she started crying and hugging him and, with a profound effort, allowed the embrace for as long as Molly needed. It was the least he could do after the way he had treated her.

Mycroft is still an idiot and Sherlock feels slightly bitter about the manipulation Mycroft put him through over the years, but if he’s really being honest with himself, he knows that Mycroft was trying to protect him and their family. His brother went about it completely the wrong way, as ever, but what can you do.

John. Now, Sherlock’s relationship with John was by and far the most difficult to repair. They were on amiable terms, which in and of itself was a remarkable feat given the strain their friendship has suffered, but it was nowhere near back to the way it was. Sherlock supposes it will never be restored completely.

There are things he wishes he had done differently. Sherlock has never been one to have regrets, but that was before he ever truly felt like he had something to lose. He can’t turn back the hands of time, so it would be entirely illogical to spend brain power wishing things had turned out different, but there is knowledge to be gained by recognizing his mistakes, understanding the repercussions, and considering alternative actions that should be taken in the future.

Sherlock knows that their relationship isn’t the highest item on John’s priority list and accepts that Rosie comes first. John is still living in the home he shared with Mary and recently began working part time at the clinic (insisting that he needs the money even though Sherlock has offered help financially) but spends the other days of the week working cases with Sherlock. John had asked Sherlock to help find a nanny for Rosie, knowing that he would be able to distinguish the good candidates from the bad, and with the assistance of Mycroft they had left no stone unturned in selecting the ideal caretaker for Rosie.

Their working hours together are certainly different, these days. John hardly ever stays out late in the evening, making sure to get back home in time to tuck Rosie into bed. Sherlock would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the late nights running around London or watching crap telly together, but it is what it is. He will gladly take the daytime hours he gets with John if it means having John back in his life. Every so often, Molly goes over to John’s place to watch Rosie and put her to bed if they know that they will be out late for a case, but it is rare. Sherlock knows that John is disappointed in the way he handled the transition into single parenthood in the months following Mary’s death, and has been determined to step up and be the best father he can be, and if that means being home for dinner most nights, Sherlock will support him.

Now that fatherhood is becoming more manageable for John and he is finally getting back into the work he enjoys again, Sherlock hopes that they can rebuild the foundations of their friendship as successfully as they have rebuilt 221B. He suspects that the companionship they once shared will never be recovered, but it’s worth a shot.

Just then, Sherlock hears the _ping_ of his mobile and pushes the covers away to reach over to his bedside table, flicking on the display to see that he had missed two calls from John and a text message.

**John Watson  
Tried calling you to discuss the party tonight. I really need a night off, so I spoke with Mrs. Hudson and she said she would take Rosie overnight. Mind if I stay in my old room?**

Sherlock smiles and fires back a message.

**Not at all. I’ll put some fresh linens on the bed.  
               SH**

Sherlock had barely hit the send button before he saw that John was typing a response.

**Yeah, right. You mean Mrs. Hudson will put fresh linens on the bed. In fact, I’ll bet she already has. She mentioned you were practically dead to the world. You really need a regular sleep schedule, Sherlock.**

**Boring.  
               SH**

John starts typing, but then stops. After another moment, John begins typing again. Uncertainty: interesting.

**I should warn you that I intend on getting properly pissed tonight, so don’t judge me.**

That explains the hesitation. John hasn’t drank heavily since before Sherlock’s encounter with Culverton.

Obvious. John intends to take this opportunity to abandon responsibility for the evening and behave as a free man, no doubt an attempt to regain the sense of individuality he has lost in his role as dad. Sherlock can see the appeal, but it’s not going to end well. John’s tolerance has been reduced since becoming a father and he will consume more than he should. Alcohol lowers inhibitions and John is easily embarrassed. He will certainly wake up feeling ill and ashamed. No, no, this will be disastrous. Best to talk him out of it, or at very least monitor his volume and –

_Ping!_

**Stop psychoanalyzing me and don’t you even think about counting my drinks tonight. I’m a grown man, Sherlock. And just for the record I’ve already penciled in ‘hangover’ for tomorrow morning, so it’s not going to come as any surprise.**

Hm. Smarter than he looks.

**I need this.**

**If you say so. At any rate, I’m sure you won’t be the only one. Molly and Lestrade are coming, after all.  
               SH**

**Well if they don’t get drunk with me, you’ll have to pick up the slack. No one likes to drink alone.**

Sherlock would normally refuse. He hates the way alcohol dulls his senses and slows brain work. But this is John, and he supposes it will encourage “bonding.”

**Do you want me to pick up any specific alcohol?  
               SH**

**What, no scathing comments? I’m almost disappointed. Whatever you’re willing to drink, I’ll drink.**

Good, he’s still got plenty of beer in the fridge from the last time he had John over.

Sherlock’s feels the uncomfortable flutter in his belly that sometimes happens when texting with John, but quickly shakes it off, peeling himself from the bed and throwing on his blue dressing gown.

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock bellows as he emerges from his bedroom.

“No need to shout, dear, I’m right outside your door” Mrs. Hudson announces from the kitchen. “Just setting out some food for the party.” Sherlock plucks a biscuit from a tray and receives a half-hearted _tsk_ from his landlady. Mrs. Hudson is already dressed in her festive outfit and pats Sherlock on the shoulder. “Go on and get yourself ready. I’ll fix you a nice cuppa.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock pecks Mrs. Hudson on the cheek and shoves another biscuit into his mouth before he pads to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower, taking extra time to let the water wash away his anxiety.

When he finally returns to his bedroom washed and face freshly shaved, he removes his towel and puts on a pair of tight black briefs as he faces the wardrobe, considering which suit to wear. He grabs his mobile from where he left it on the bed and sees that he had missed another text message as he was cleaning up.

**Heading over early to set up Rosie’s things. Be there soon.**

Just then he hears footsteps on the other side of the wall. Not Mrs. Hudson’s. John’s? (How long had he been in the shower?) With a knock on the door, John shouts, “Sherlock, you’re not still in bed are you?”

Sherlock quickly reaches for his dressing gown and opens his mouth to speak, but John is already opening the door.

“John, I’m–”

John walks in and freezes, his eyes widening and flashing across Sherlock’s body. “Oh shit! S-sorry!” Sherlock notices John lick his lips, surely unintentionally. “I’ll just,” John stammers and shakes his head, face flushed, as he retreats from the room, closing the door on his way out.

Sherlock feels blood rushing from his head and stands dumbfounded for a moment. He always made a habit of being covered with clothing (or at very least, a sheet) during the time John lived with him, so this was undoubtedly the most of Sherlock’s skin John has ever been exposed to. Even his incident in Buckingham Palace didn’t reveal as much.

He has nothing to be ashamed of, of course, but he fears that it may create awkwardness between them on the very night they were supposed to enjoy some easy time spent together.

Still… It doesn’t change the fact that the situation was a little dizzying. John’s reaction was curious. And the thing he did with his mouth…

_No,_ Sherlock shakes his head. What’s done is done. No point in ruminating. John will get over it and so must he.

John stimulates far too many emotional and physical reactions than he’d care to endure.

He hurries to get himself dressed, choosing an all-black suit to match the already-debuted pants. After taking one last look in the mirror, he takes a deep breath and walks out into the sitting room.

The first thing he sees upon entering the corridor is the rush of a small child encroaching on his personal space (at an alarming rate), and a moment later she is throwing her arms around Sherlock’s legs, releasing a high-pitched squeal in excitement.

“Ah, hello young Watson.” He pats Rosie on the head and shifts his focus above her to scan the room. John is standing near the fireplace, already with a beer in hand, talking animatedly to Mrs. Hudson. None of the other guests seem to have arrived yet. Now that he’s gotten a better look at John, he is pleased to see that John has forgone his usual holiday jumper this year and is dressed in a smart sage green/black plaid shirt with a maroon cardigan. Unexpected. Well done, John. Your look is improving. When John catches Sherlock’s eye, he offers an apologetic smile (clearly in response to the intimate interruption minutes ago) before quickly taking a swig of his lager.

Sherlock huffs in annoyance. He had a feeling John would dwell on it, so this really shouldn’t come as any shock. Embarrassment is tedious and he wishes John would just let it go rather than cause distance between them.

Moving on.

Sherlock takes a sip from the tea Mrs. Hudson has left out for him and then bends down to pick up Rosie, carrying her into the room near her father and asking about her day. As a rule of thumb, Sherlock doesn’t enjoy spending time with children, but Rosie is an exception to the rule. She is John’s child. What more needs to be said.

As Sherlock settles on the sofa next to Rosie and begins showing her the Urban Beekeeping book he picked up, he notices in his peripheral vision that John is looking at Sherlock from across the room more often than usual. Approximately 45% more. Interesting. The behavior is likely connected to catching Sherlock in his pants, but he’s not sure what it means. 5 theories come to mind. Need more data.

The next time he notices John glancing at him, Sherlock turns in his direction and for a split-second catches John’s eyes roaming over his body. When John meets Sherlock’s eyes, his face blushes and he quickly looks back at Mrs. Hudson, clearly attempting to catch up on what she was saying as he was preoccupied with staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock forgets about the bee book, letting Rosie take over, and steeples his fingers under his chin, shifting his focus entirely to John Watson. He was embarrassed when Sherlock caught him staring just now. Why?

Before he can process his thoughts, John narrows his eyes at Sherlock and forms the words with his mouth, _Stop. Deducing. Me._

Sherlock rolls his eyes and refocuses his attention on Rosie and the bees.

***

John hears Mrs. Hudson speaking, but he couldn’t tell you a word she’s said in the past ten minutes.

All he can think about is the dynamite body Sherlock’s been hiding under those suits and dressing gowns. The image of damp, tousled curls, porcelain skin, muscular body, long legs and a tight arse is burned in his brain. _Christ_. John’s usually able to keep himself together in Sherlock’s presence, but he could really benefit from being dowsed in some cold water right about now.

It’s hard not to fantasize about what could have happened if he hadn’t acted like such a bumbling fool when he walked in on him. What would Sherlock have done if he had stuck around and marveled at Sherlock’s body, like the way he marvels at his brain? Sherlock likes when he praises his intellect. Would he like to hear just how much John appreciates his body, too? God, John would worship that body. Or what if he had stomped across the room and pushed Sherlock back against the wall and –

_Shit_ , John thinks, when he realizes he’s been staring at Sherlock and the attention hasn’t gone unnoticed. Great. How is it that the most observant man in the world is the _one person_ John Watson has developed an earth-shattering desire for?

_I am so fucked._

***

Two hours, 1,500 ml of beer, and an atrocious amount of small talk later, Mrs. Hudson has taken Rosie downstairs for the night and Sherlock is still trying to figure out the Great Christmas Mystery of 2016.

Sherlock’s cheeks are warm and he’s feeling a bit lightheaded (in a pleasant way), but his mind is still firing at full speed. Wait. Is that how the saying goes? Or is it… firing on all cylinders? Something like that. Anyway. Doesn’t matter. Brain’s in tip-top shape. Still smarter than these bozos. Sherlock chuckles at the thought and takes a sip from the glass of scotch John just deposited in his hand mere minutes ago, licking a drop that managed to run down his lip.

_Aha!_ John noticed. He looked directly at Sherlock’s tongue and squirmed in his seat. _Fascinating_. John has looked at Sherlock’s mouth at least two hundred and fifty-seven times throughout the course of the evening at an average of over two times per minute. That must be a record. Definitely a personal record. Maybe an all-time record? Are there all-time records for the most someone has looked at another person’s lips for any given amount of time? Probably not. What about studies calculating how often is appropriate for strictly platonic friends to look at each other’s lips, are any of those out there? If not, there should be. This is all very confusing.

In addition to the mouth fixation, John has glanced at Sherlock’s throat one hundred and twelve times, his hands eighty-three times, and his pelvic region twenty-one times. And those are just the times Sherlock has caught.

Lestrade, Molly and John are talking about… something – involves a celebrity (how pedestrian) – which is maddening because there are more important things to talk about. LIKE WHY JOHN IS ACTING SO STRANGELY. Hasn’t anyone else noticed??? He can’t be the only one. Anyone with two functioning eyeballs should have been able to pick up on it by now. And really, John is barely talking. He’s been zoned out most of the evening. Granted, the conversation has been dull, but usually John is better at faking interest.

John is most certainly uncomfortable. That much Sherlock has gathered. The reason, however, isn’t obvious to Sherlock. He’s narrowed it down to two likely theories: either John is uncomfortable because he didn’t enjoy seeing Sherlock exposed and wishes he could delete the memory of the incident, OR John is uncomfortable because he _did_ enjoy seeing Sherlock exposed and would like to see more. If Sherlock didn’t know John, he would feel confident in deducing that it was the latter of the two theories. His behavior points toward lust. The problem is, Sherlock _does_ know John and has explicitly been told time and time again that John is not gay. No confirmed male-male relationships in his history. Nothing to back up that John may have bisexual tendencies.

The uncertainty is hateful.

Just then, Gavin and Molly stand up and walk toward their coats. “We’d better be off,” Lestrade announces. “I’ve gotta work tomorrow and if I stay any longer I’m on the fast track to nursing a headache in the morning.”

“Me too,” Molly adds. “I’m gonna catch a cab with Greg.” Greg? Oh, Lestrade. “Thank you for having us, Sherlock! It’s always lovely to see you both!”

They exchange goodbyes while Sherlock secretly wishes (for perhaps the first time in his life) that they would stay longer, only so he can continue observing John, and soon the door closes and the two men are left alone.

They look at each other, clearly both unsure of what to do next, before John starts laughing. Sherlock can feel his own eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What? What’s so funny?”

John’s laughter dies down. “Nothing. Just been an interesting night.” John shakes his head and moves to his chair, mumbling “ _Christ, almighty,_ ” as he sits down.

Sherlock hesitates for a moment but then crosses the room to sit in his chair across from John. They let silence fill the air for full two minutes as they stare at the fire and consume more scotch.

Sherlock rests his elbow on the chair and props his chin onto his hand, letting his fingers trail lazily over his lips as he’s lost in thought. That’s when he notices John looking at his mouth and fingers and he sees John swallow hard.

This time Sherlock can’t let it go. He needs answers.

He leans forward and points at John. “ _There._ You did it again. _WHY_ do you keep looking at me like that?”

John tenses for a split second, then tries to cover it up. “Like what?”

“You know what. You’re looking at me more often than you normally do. Quite a bit more. The frequency has skyrocketed. Why? _Why?_ ”

John considers lying for a moment, Sherlock can see it and narrows his eyes at him, but then John seems to accept that he’s been caught and he lets his face fall into his hands. “Don’t make me say it, Sherlock.”

“I’m afraid I must insist, John. I will not rest until this mystery is solved.”

John chuckles nervously but keeps his head buried in his hands. “Why…” He rubs his eyes and groans. “Why do you have to be married to your work?”

 “I don’t understand.”

John lifts his face, meeting Sherlock’s eyes, and clenches his hand before muttering, “Nevermind. Can we just drop this?” John stands and moves to walk away but Sherlock reaches over and grabs John’s wrist.

“Sit.”

John looks pained, but complies.

“Tell me what’s going on, John.”

John peers around the room, evidently debating whether or not he should say. When he speaks, he doesn’t look at Sherlock. “You have to know by now. You can tell someone’s life story by their shirt-cuff and fingernails. I must be an easy read.”

“On the contrary. You mystify me.”

At that, John looks at Sherlock and runs his hand through his hair before he shrugs his shoulders and quietly says, “I want you.”

Sherlock’s stomach drops.

It takes all of his willpower to stay seated and not running into John’s arms, but he can’t. Not yet. He needs more data.

“In what capacity? Be explicit.”

John bites his bottom lip. “In every capacity.”

Sherlock feels blood rush to his groin. “Just to clarify, you want to engage in sexual relations, actions ranging from kissing to anal penetration, with me?”

John squirms slightly and licks his lips. “Yes."

Sherlock steeples his hands under his chin. “Top or bottom?”

John doesn’t even hesitate this time. “Any way I can have you.”

Interesting. He always imagined John as a top-only. “Do you have hopes of entering into a committed romantic relationship as well, or sex only?”

John leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “When I said every capacity, I meant it. I want everything.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“And when did these feelings start?”

John’s lips curl into a dark smile and he cocks his head to one side. “Shall I make you a timetable?”

“If you _could_ , that would be helpf–“

“I’m not making you a bloody timetable, Sherlock – I’ve wanted you for a long time. Now stop questioning me and give me some sort of indication of how you feel about all this!”

At that, Sherlock is thrown off. “What?”

John grumbles and begins to shout but then stops, takes a deep breath, and whispers, “Do you want me, or not?”

Oh, John. What an idiotic question. “Obviously.”

John beams. He hasn’t seen a smile so dazzling on John’s face since he doesn’t know when. It makes his heart flutter and he can’t help but smile back. But then John schools his features and leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. “In what capacity?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“In what capacity do you want me?”

“I’ll take whatever you will give me. I’ve been in love with you for years. I thought that was _fairly_ obvious.”

John frowns. “Mm, nope, not obvious to me.”

“Predictable.”

“You love me?”

“Yes, it surprised me as well.”

“And sex doesn’t alarm you?”

“Quite the opposite, when it comes to you.”

John licks his lips again. “Top or bottom?”

Sherlock stands. “I want you inside me, John.”

John groans and rubs his hands over his eyes. _“Jesus._ ” He rises out of his chair to face Sherlock and asks, _“_ When?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Oh God, yes.”

And with that, they crash into each other, all lips and tongues and hands and Sherlock’s knees practically give out from sensation overload. It’s not even remotely delicate. None of it is. It’s frantic and heady and better than Sherlock ever imagined it would be and he can’t get enough.

They stumble toward the bedroom, never breaking apart, and John nudges Sherlock down onto the bed. He climbs on top of Sherlock and pulls his shirt and vest off. Sherlock sighs at the sight of John’s naked chest, reaching out and letting his fingers roam up his stomach, brushing lightly over his scar, and stopping to caress his nipples. John moans and rolls his head back. After a moment, John closes the distance and moves his mouth across Sherlock’s jaw and down his throat as he begins unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

Sherlock hums and John makes quick work of the buttons before removing the shirt completely. He rolls off the bed and quickly tugs off his trousers and pants, cock springing to life and Sherlock wants to reach out and run his tongue across it. It’s thick. Thicker than the average size for a man of John’s height and weight. His mouth waters. He arches off the bed to remove his own garments, and they both stop to stare at each other, taking in each other’s gloriously naked bodies.

John seems glued to the spot, his eyes taking in every inch of Sherlock. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve wanted this for such a long time and never thought I’d get it.”

Sherlock appreciates the sentiment, but he has no time for that right now. “Mm, yes, skipping ahead to the part where you fuck me.”

John growls and pounces back on Sherlock, sliding their bodies together and Sherlock gasps when their cocks touch. _Oh, this is divine_. Sherlock reaches to his bedside table and grabs the lube and a condom from the drawer. They’re rutting against each other in a frenzy and the feeling is exquisite. Sherlock needs more. He tears open the packaging and John takes the condom, rolling the latex on as he moves down to lick at Sherlock’s nipple. Sherlock throws his arm over his eyes and moans loudly. He feels John smile into Sherlock’s skin. “That’s it. Let me hear you.” John bites down and Sherlock moans again, groping for the bottle of lube and flipping the cap open, dousing John’s hand.

John closes his right hand over Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock’s entire body jerks at the shock of pleasure. He begins stroking slowly and soon enough Sherlock feels John’s left hand graze down Sherlock’s bollocks, against his perineum, and then begin kneading at Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock moans as John begins pushing a finger inside, digging his nails into John’s knees.

John eases in and out as he continues to stroke Sherlock slowly but firmly. “Beautiful. God, you’re beautiful.”

When he’s ready, Sherlock breathes, “Another.” John wiggles another finger inside and Sherlock whimpers. He props himself up on one elbow and reaches out to tug teasingly at John’s cock, and John immediately grunts and clenches his jaw.

“This might not last long,” John rasps after a few minutes, removing his hand from around Sherlock’s cock to pull Sherlock’s hand off of his before returning to stroke Sherlock again.

“Then we’ll – _ahh_ – just have to do it slower next time.” After a few more moments Sherlock pleads, “I need more, John.”

John adds a third finger and Sherlock collapses back onto the bed, covering his eyes with both hands. It’s amazing. Everything’s amazing. John’s amazing. “Now.”

“Ready? Are you sure?”

Sherlock uncovers his face and despite the heady sensations, gives John his _don’t be an idiot_ face, and mutters, “Hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”

John removes his fingers and grabs the bottle to squeeze more lube into his hand, chuckling. “Should’ve known you’d be a bossy bottom,” he says as he slicks his cock.

“You’ve no idea.”

John bites down onto his bottom lip and presses his cock against Sherlock’s entrance. “Here we go.” He begins moving slowly, filling Sherlock inch by inch and Sherlock squeezes his eyes tight, breathing in 1-2-3-4, holding 1-2-3-4, and exhaling 1-2-3-4.

“Oh my God,” John moans.

He can tell they’re both holding on by a thread, trying not to completely lose it right away. Sherlock bites back a sob as John pushes in until he’s fully seated. John stops and lets Sherlock adjust to the sensation.

“ _John._ ” John exhales loudly and begins moving, bringing his body down to kiss Sherlock’s lips. The connection Sherlock feels with John hits him like a sledgehammer. He loves this man more than he ever thought he was capable of loving. “Oh, God. More, John. _Harder_.”

John moans and begins thrusting with enthusiasm. “ _Jesus fucking Christ_.”

Sherlock is on the brink. A few more minutes of panting and quivering and John chokes out “I love you, Sherlock,” and that’s it. Sherlock’s eyelids clench as he reaches the edge, his vision going white and blurry as his orgasm sends shocks of pleasure through his body. Two more thrusts and John is crying out Sherlock’s name, his cock jerking in Sherlock’s body. Sherlock feels like he’s soaring.

They pant into each others necks for minutes, hours, Sherlock doesn’t know, until John eases himself out and goes to fetch a flannel, coming back to clean Sherlock first and then patting himself down. When he’s done, he throws the flannel aside and collapses onto the bed next to Sherlock.

“Holy fuck, that was incredible.”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock smiles, and then turns over to curl into John and kiss him tenderly, trying to convey the love he feels with the caress of his lips. After a minute of delicious snogging, Sherlock can’t help but ask, “Did you mean it? What you said, during…”

John looks at him intensely. “Of course I meant it. I love you, Sherlock. Have for a long time.”

Sherlock’s lips curl against his will into a ridiculous smile. “I love you, John.” Then he frowns, and says, “Dear God, did I really reach climax from hearing your confession of love? Do people really do that?”

John laughs. “We’re all fools when it comes to love. I guess even the great Sherlock Holmes.”

“Ugh.”

John snuggles into Sherlock and pulls the blanket over them, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. It’s delightful and he’s never felt so ordinary in his whole life. He thought he was above all this, but there’s nothing for it: he’s completely and utterly besotted with John Watson.

They have a lot to talk about. There are many questions Sherlock needs the answers to, John almost certainly does as well, but they can wait. For now, he decides to let John’s fingers continue to run through his hair, breathe in the man’s scent, and bask in the comfort of knowing the love of his life loves him back. For the first time ever, he knows he’s exactly where he is meant to be.

Everything else will fall into place. They’ll work through it together.

They always do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, dear readers, for stopping by! This story was originally supposed to go in a completely different direction, but our boys had a mind of their own and when John showed up unexpectedly, well, things went haywire.
> 
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
